Page 205 of Chaos

“I was just heading out to get some dinner,” she tells me as she fishes her keys out of her purse, clicking a button that makes the rear headlights of her rental car flash. As she ducks inside and settles behind the wheel, I slip onto the passenger seat. “Any recommendations?”

“Bishop’s,” I reply automatically, only a little because it’s actually good, a lot because it’s pretty much the only place thatstays open past sunset around here. “I’ll, uh, call my sister to pick me up from there.”

Although my gaze remains focused out the windshield, I feel Finn’s mom cut me a sharp glance. “That’s a bar, isn’t it?”

I tense. “It’s a restaurant too.”

Silence settles, and fuck me if I don’t recognize this particular brand of tension.

Slumping against the door, I sigh. “He told you, didn’t he?”

To her credit, she doesn’t try to lie, or even hesitate. “My son and I are very close.”

“I know.” He told me, of course. And I knew he told her about me. I don’t know why I didn’t assume that meant he told her every nasty detail too. “I’m not interested in drinking.”

“I think that’s a lie.”

My nostrils flare with a sharp exhale, her correct assumption rubbing me the wrong way. Tone rough and biting, I amend, “I’m not going to drink.”

Mrs. Akello says nothing.

“Is that why you’re driving me home? To make sure I don’t slip?”

“I’m driving you home because my son asked me to.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” I reach for the door handle, but right as I grasp it, the lock clicks into place. I huff. “He saiddrive, not kidnap.”

A snort cuts through the strain.

“Kidnap her if you have to.” She eyes me sideways, a hint of a smile curving her mouth. “That’s what he said.”

Despite the circumstances, I smile. “Of course, he did.”

“My son is important to me. You’re important to my son. That’s why I’m driving you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s no trouble,” she repeats, and I shake my head, I’m not talking about a ride home.

“I mean for…” I lift a limp hand, gesturing vaguely, the lump in my throat preventing me from explaining properly. “This.”

“He doesn’t blame you.”

“But you do.”

“I imagine you blame yourself enough for the both of us.”

I keep quiet. What am I going to do? Deny it? Lie?

Mrs. Akello makes a noise in the back of her throat, one that sounds suspiciously like a synonym forthat’s what I thought. Jamming her keys into the ignition, she turns on the engine and pulls out of the parking space, and it’s not until we’re on the main road, hurtling to Serenity, that she unlocks the damn door.

I could make a joke about having thrown myself out of a moving vehicle to escape an awkward conversation before, and I’d do it again. Ordinarily, I would. But as the silence settles thickly once more, I find something else is on my mind—a statement rather than a quip.

“I heard you earlier,” I blurt before I can think better of it, curling my fingers around the curves of my knees. “And if it makes you feel any better, I am well aware that I’m not good enough for your son.”

Mrs. Akello glances at me as she obeys the droning GPS system and hooks a left turn. “Pretty sure I didn’t say that.”

“It was implied.”

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